


What a Catch

by relmer



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Football, High School AU, M/M, al and race have a cute talk, al and race plan to meet up at the game, al is slightly protective, jack is qb of manhattan high, like the fight oops, race and al are flustered, somewhat descriptive pls be careful, spot and race hang out there, there’s a fight!!, they also meet there woo, they win dw, uhhh ppl do the do in a library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relmer/pseuds/relmer
Summary: The boy spread his arms. “Then let’s make a deal. If you guys win, you get to choose what happens. Within reason, of course. But ifwewin, you, uh, give me your number.”“I don’t even know your name, grade, et cetera.”“Albert DaSilva, junior.”“Racetrack Higgins, also a junior.”Albert coughed. “There’s no way that that’s your name.”“Correct,” Race said, looking at him in amusement, “but you’ll just have to figure that out, won’t you?”





	What a Catch

**Author's Note:**

> modern au, everyone looks like they do in newsies live!!
> 
> enjoy the fluff and mess of a fic

Race sighed, his head resting on a fist as he flipped through textbooks and notes, and notes and textbooks. He sat in the old library that nearly no one used or cared about. The librarians had all quit several months ago, and no one ever bothered to take anything.

The sound of a book slamming down on the table he sat at made him jump, his head snapping up. A ginger boy stood there, looking quite flustered.

“Two people are fucking near the entrance,” he explained with a gag that Race couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. “The girl obviously doesn’t know how to-“

He was cut off by a loud, female moan. Both boys flinched, wearing matching looks of disgust.

“-shut up.... There’s no way out unless you want to pass by them. I think they’re on round two or three.”

“This is the grossest situation I’ve ever been in, and I’m best friends with Jack Kelly.”

“Wait, like the QB of Manhattan High?”

Race shot him a grin. “The one and only.”

“We play them tomorrow.” The ginger slid into the seat across from Race, seeming to grow even more confident. “We’re totally going to win.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

The boy spread his arms. “Then let’s make a deal. If you guys win, you get to choose what happens. Within reason, of course. But if _we_ win, you, uh, give me your number.”

“I don’t even know your name, grade, et cetera.”

“Albert DaSilva, junior.”

“Racetrack Higgins, also a junior.”

Albert coughed. “There’s no way that that’s your name.”

“Correct,” Race said, looking at him in amusement, “but you’ll just have to figure that out, won’t you?”

He stood up and gathered his belongings, shoving the papers into binders and it all into his backpack. All the while, he felt Albert’s curious gaze on him. When he slung the bag onto his shoulder, the ginger spoke again.

“You’re very strange, Higgins.”

Race shrugged. “I’m even stranger when you get to know me. Now, wish me luck in leaving without hearing a straight couple fuck.” He clicked his tongue, shooting Albert a wink. “You have a deal. Good luck.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Albert sitting their in wonder and amazement. Race’s eyes would forever be in his mind, especially with the mischievous glint they get.

Meanwhile, the couple started on another round.

– – –

When Friday night rolled around, Race drove himself to the other high school that was several miles away. He then realized he and Albert had never set up a place to meet. Staring up into the student section of Pulitzer High’s, the home team, bleachers, he didn’t spot anyone with bright red hair.

As he walked to the visitors’ side, he was jostled countless times. The main reason was most likely due to him wearing his school colors. Slowly losing his pride, Race finally stepped onto the visitors’ side bleachers.

“Race!”

He looked up to see Davey Jacobs, one of his close friends (and Jack’s boyfriend), standing at the top and waving up over. He climbed the metal bleachers, giving the taller boy a grin.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Davey said, “since you rarely go to the games.”

“Well, this’ll be the first one I go to this year. I try to go to at least one a year.

“Makes sense.”

The game soon started, Manhattan High winning the toss and choosing to receive the first half. Both teams sent their players on the field, all of them itching to start. Pulitzer High’s band (Manhattan High didn’t have one) started up a cheer for the kickoff. The ball was kicked in the air, the players ran, and the game was started.

Jack caught the ball, managing to dodge the other team, and ran down to Pulitzer High’s 38 yard line.

 _”Hell yeah, Kelly!”_ Race yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. He was already buzzer up with pure energy, fidgeting where he sat.

The announcer repeated what just happened, along with “Kelly tackled by #55 Albert DaSilva.”

Race’s eyes darted over to the field, frozen as he scanned it for the blue and gold jersey of the ginger. He eventually found him, eyes wide and mouth open.

“That absolute _fucker,”_ he whispered.

“What?”

“I...,” Race trailed off, still gazing down at the opposite team’s #55. “I’ll tell you later, Davey.”

He ignored the confused stare, going down the bleachers. As he kept his eyes on the field, he bumped into someone shorter than him; Spot Conlon.

“Watch where- oh. Hey, Race.”

“You come to less games than even _I_ do,” Race pointed out, “and this isn’t even for your school.”

Spot shrugged. “Jack made me come. He said something about you most likely embarrassing yourself.”

“Nothing is though? Like nothing embarrassing.”

“That’s just what he said. Something about a ginger kid you met-“

“Albert?”

“Like one of the linebackers of Pulitzer High?” Spot raised an eyebrow. “Oh boy, I’m definitely staying for this.”

Race’s face flushed. “I hate my friends.”

“No you don’t.”

The blond nodded in agreement as Spot somehow managed to throw an arm over his shoulder. They walked to the concession stand, both just buying a soda. Race continued to glance at the field, noticing how Albert stood on the sidelines.

Spot saw where his friend’s eyes drifted to. “You have it _bad._ And you hardly even know him.”

Race had told Jack about Albert, who in turn told Spot about him. Jack just laughed at him, knowing Albert was on Pulitzer High’s team, but didn’t tell Race.

“I know that he’s the quarterback — and he didn’t bother telling me.” He hesitated for a second before saying, “And he’s pretty cute.”

“Cute?”

“Attractive.”

“Attractive?”

“...Hot.”

“There you go,” Spot said with a knowing grin. “You like him!”

Race slumped against the wall of the concessions. “But so does literally everyone else. I don’t stand a chance.”

“He made a bet in which if he won, you’d give him your number!”

“I guess...”

“Higgins, I swear to God.”

“Higgins?” a voice asked from the side. “Like Racetrack Higgins?”

Spot and Race turned to see a boy staring curiously at them.

“Yeah. What about me?”

“Albert told me to find you, and to ask you to stay after the game. He’s planning to win.” The boy gestured to the scoreboard.

_HOME: 14. VISITING: 0._

“And we are.”

Race slowly nodded. “Well, shit.”

“You’re gonna have to fulfill your part of the deal,” Spot said with a smirk. “I mean, it’s not a bad one, at least. And from what I know, he sounds pretty attractive. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Spot,” Race snapped, though it was without any malice.

“I’m just saying...”

“Good luck,” the boy said, turning and leaving the pair alone against the concessions.

“That was...interesting,” Spot said after a moment of silence. “What do you think it is?”

“He’s gonna profess his ‘undying love’ for me and kneel and ask for my number,” Race joked.

“Wouldn’t be surprised. Let’s go see if anyone’s fighting.”

They pushed off the wall, going over to the large area behind the home team stands. A bunch of people, mostly freshmen and middle schoolers, were there. One pushed past Spot, hitting his shoulder hard.

“Watch where you’re going,” he mumbled, to which the guy stopped and turned.

“What did you say, eighth grader?”

Spot’s eyes blazed at the comment, Race laying a hand on his shoulder. “He’s a senior, and you may want to leave before he kicks your ass.”

“He couldn’t even beat up a kindergartener with his height.”

“Oh, shit!” a freshmen yelled, along with “Fight!”

People started crowding around them, repeating the cheer. Race stood in the circle but off to the side, shaking his head as Spot pushed the guy. Phones were pulled out, videos going up instantly on Snapchat.

Spot managed to knock the guy down, refusing to hurt him anymore. When he was a sophomore, he might’ve, but now he had more self control.

“Let’s leave, Race,” he said.

They both turned to do so, not noticing the guy getting up. He tackled Race, the blond’s head smacking into the ground. Race fought back instantly, blood filling his mouth after a punch to the nose.

“Get off him!” Spot shouted, being driven out of the circle.

Race elbowed the guy, shoving him off of him. “You bastard.” He spat out blood, dodging a punch and kicking him in the stomach.

“Shit!”

The crowd separated, the policemen who helped out at the games stepping in between the three boys.

“Who started it?” one asked.

“Gregory — he called the brown-haired kid an eighth grader because his height,” a girl who stayed behind said. “A lot of people are sensitive about their height.”

“Who threw the first punch?”

Spot spoke up, rubbing his shoulder. “I pushed him, but he punched me first. There was more punching and stuff before I knocked him to the ground. Race and I tried to leave, but the guy tackled him. Both punched each other.”

“Alright,” the police officer said slowly as she took in the information. “Gregory, you’re not allowed at the games anymore. This is the fifth time this year that this has happened.”

She turned to Spot and Race. “You two will be let off with a warning. I’ve never seen either of you before, which is good. Pull this again, and there _will_ be slight consequences. Got it?”

They nodded.

“Good. Now, I suggest you ignore people who do this kind of stuff. Enjoy the game.”

As she left, Race politely called, “You too.”

Spot turned to him. “Are you okay? You got hurt worse than me.”

“I’m fine. I think.”

Spot raised an eyebrow, scanning the boy’s face. “A few bruises, but not too bad. Your nose may be broken, though.”

Race touched it lightly, then winced.

“Idiot.”

“Smart ass.”

“Tall ass.”

“Of _course_ you would make a Be More Chill reference,” Race said, punching Spot’s shoulder and laughing.

“What? It’s a good musical.”

– – –

It was the last few seconds of the game, which was tied 35-35. Spot and Race leaned against the fence on their side, closely watching the game. Pulitzer High had the ball on Manhattan High’s 43 yard line and it was the third down.

“If they win, you stay after, right?” Spot asked. He received a nod. “Dude, you’re _whipped.”_

“Shut up,” Race mumbled distractedly.

They quieted as the play started and the ball was thrown. Race’s eyes were glued to _#21 Davenport_  as he caught the ball and ran. The main stands grew louder as he got closer and closer and-

He scored.

The Pulitzer High stands blew up with cheers, even more as they gained the extra point. When they could, the majority of the people in the stands flooded onto the field as the band played their fight song.

Spot patted Race’s back. “Time to go give your number to a football player.”

“He said to stay after, so I’m assuming much later.”

“Well, I’m leaving. Have fun with your boyfriend,” Spot teased.

“He’s not my-“

“Not yet!”

Race groaned, still standing there. He looked out at the Pulitzer High players, instantly locking eyes with Albert. The ginger grinned and winked, Race’s face flushing lightly.

“Higgins,” a familiar voice said, and when the blond turned he saw the boy from earlier. “Come with me. We can just wait outside the school until they finally come out.” He started walking away.

“You don’t even know if I drove here or not.”

“Did you?”

“...Yes.” Race jogged to catch up with the taller boy. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Finch.”

“I’m guessing that’s a nickname?”

“Like yours, yeah.”

They stayed silent, stopping for the band to march back into the school before following them. They then sat in the courtyard until the football team finished up.

“How much longer?” Race asked with a sigh.

“You’re very impatient,” Finch said.

“Always have been, always will be.”

A sudden hand on Race’s shoulder made him whip around, instantly recognizing the person.

“I’m leaving, bye,” Finch said, getting up and nearly sprinting out of the courtyard.

“He’s strange,” Race mumbled.

“Not as strange as you.”

“Is that an attempt at flirting?”

Albert winked at him. “Only if you want it to be. Now, I believe you owe me your number.”

Race snorted, holding out his hand. When the ginger’s phone was given to him, he sat back down on the bench, Albert quickly doing the same.

“Here,” Race said after a moment. “It’s not a random one that’ll play the John Cena theme song or that one rejection one, I promise.”

“I guess I’ll just have to call it to make sure.”

He did, Race’s phone buzzing until he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Will you do the honor of going on a date with me tomorrow?”

“Hm, going on a date with a football player who smells like roadkill,” Race joked, “or sleeping in and doing nothing productive?”

As he pretended to contemplate it, Albert said, “I’ll even pay for it.”

“You, Mr. DaSilva, have got yourself a deal.”

They hung up, wearing matching grins.

“Pick you up tomorrow at eleven? In the morning, if you couldn’t tell.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“All the more reason to text you, duh,” Albert said, his grin softening into a smile.

“Holy shit, yes please.”

“I promise it’ll be better than when we met.”

Race laughed, wincing at the memories of the library. “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“Good.” Albert was silent for a moment, then his eyes widened. “What happened?” He pressed a hand lightly against Race’s face, tilting it so he could see all of the bruises.

“Oh...I got into a fight. Some kid named Gregory.”

“The one who got kicked off the football team. Kept fighting with other teams,” Albert explained. He let his hand drop.

“He seemed to be more well-built. Threw a good punch,” Race shrugged, “though I do it better.”

Albert raised an eyebrow, humming. “A boy who’s handsome, nerdy, _and_ can kick an ex-football player’s ass? What a catch!”

“A football player who...not really sure what you can do.”

“Hey! I have a 3.9 GPA!”

“Try a 4.2, bro.”

“Did you seriously just bro-zone me? And holy _shit,_ you’re becoming more attractive by the minute.”

Race blushed, looking away. “I bro-zone everyone — including hot football players.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot.”

“Extremely.”

Race turned back to Albert, noticing the ginger’s red cheeks and how they matched his hair. He let out another laugh as Albert looked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Your hair matches your cheeks,” Race said.

“Oh, shut up!”

“Make me.”

“I will, pretty boy.”

Albert swiftly pressed a kiss to the blond’s cheek, who froze, mouth open wide as he struggled to say something.

“So, eleven, yeah?” Albert said, standing up with a huge grin. “You’ll like the place, trust me.”

“I-I....”

“See ya, pretty boy!”

Then he was gone, leaving Race a still stuttering and flushed mess.

_“Holy shit...”_

**Author's Note:**

> did you mean: i'm not good and matching dialogue and actions so the ending mess was made
> 
> (edit: there’s a sequel to this!! it’s called “simple”)


End file.
